


These Hips Don't Lie

by emeraldonyxdragon



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Belly Dancer!Otabek, Belly Dancing, Figure skater!Yuri, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-28 23:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10841289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldonyxdragon/pseuds/emeraldonyxdragon
Summary: Inspired by techochet on Tumblr's BellyDancer!Otabek art! College!AU where BellyDancer!Otabek still falls in love with FigureSkater!Yuri and does his best to impress him, with varied results.





	These Hips Don't Lie

Angry, Yuri Plisetsky stomped down the bare brick hallway, away from his dorm room. He needed some brain bleach, stat. His roommate’s stupid boyfriend, Victor, was sucking Yuuri’s face off in the common room, regardless of any complaints from one of the two people who actually lived there. However, it was apparent that Yuuri’s opinion mattered more than Yuri’s, in this case. Whoever decided that two Yuri’s should live in the same dorm room needed to be shot.

Having grabbed his phone, a towel, and a bottle of water, Yuri was glad he hadn’t changed out of his exercise clothes yet. Knowing those two, the dorm would be...busy...for the next few hours. So he quickly left, with the intention of practicing some ballet in the empty dance room in the basement of the building. He really wanted to work on the fluidity of some of his step sequences.

Bouncing lightly down the stairs, he pulled out his earbuds and jammed then in his ears, already queuing up some warm up music. Punching in the code to the dance room, he pushed the heavy metal door open and stopped short, eyes wide.

There was someone in his dance room. His dance room! Yuri couldn’t see much of him, besides the fact that he was shirtless and swaying to an invisible beat.

“Oi!” shouted Yuri, affronted, but much louder than acceptable, due to the music blaring in his ears. Yuri ripped out an earbud, in order to shout at the guy some more and kick him out of the room. It was only then that he heard the faint beat of a tambourine and a heavier drum; it sounded like...Arabic music?

The intruder startled and turned around, quickly walking over to a small speaker in the far corner of the room and pushing a button. The music quieted, and the intruder straightened up. He looked at Yuri with a blank but serious face, waiting.

Yuri’s throat suddenly went dry. The man was gorgeous, the lack of shirt putting his toned and tanned chest on display. Loose dark green harem pants covered his lower half, but they bunched up at the ankles and left his feet bare. A small sheen of sweat was visible even from across the room, and as Yuri continued to stare, the man walked closer and tilted his head, a wordless question.

Yuri coughed, loud in the sudden silence, and remembered the reason he was here. If he couldn’t practice here, then he had nowhere else to go to avoid hearing Yuuri and Victor’s obnoxious and frankly, scarring sex noises.

“What’s with you, asshole?” Yuri held the metal door open with his foot and cocked his hip, “this is my dance room and I need it right now!”

The shirtless intruder spoke. Goddamn, Yuri’s mental voice said, even his voice is hot. It was deep and husky, thought the words were not what Yuri wanted to hear right now. “I’m sorry, do you have the room reserved right now?” He ran his hand through his hair, making his undercut even more obvious as his short, dark hair rearranged itself.

“I don’t need a reservation,” retorted Yuri. “This is my room and I use it when I want. I’m a varsity student athlete; I get priority.” Yuri was lying. The truth was, these rooms were first-come first serve, but Yuri hasn’t seen this guy around and it was the beginning of semester; he probably didn’t know the rules yet. Either way, as long as he left, Yuri would be happy.

The intruder, whose name Yuri still didn’t know and didn’t care to know, turned and walked back to his speaker. Yuri grew incensed and was about to yell at him again when the intruder calmly picked up it up, a small black bag next to it, and walked past him to the door. He didn’t even glance back.

Yuri huffed. Finally. He set down his stuff and grabbed the barre next to the mirror, starting his warm-up stretches.

 

Outside the building, the intruder leaned against the brick wall, put his head in his hands, and slowly slid down the wall. His butt hit the floor with a soft thump.

“Fuck,” Otabek whispered softly, but with feeling. He ran his hands down his face, heedless of the coarse brick digging into his lower back. Otabek pulled out his phone.

To: Mila:  
...I fucked up.

To: Otabek:  
OMG what happened?!?! Did you hit him with a zill or something?

To: Mila:  
I-he wasn’t supposed to be in there yet! I-uh mayhavenotsaidanything and left??  
To: Otabek:  
YOU WHAT?  
To: Otabek:  
Stay put. Im almost there

Otabek looked up from between his crossed arms that rested on his knees. He heard the sound of rubber wheels in the distance and a small bright red bike skidded to a stop in front of him, spraying small rocks and dirt on his bare feet. Fuck, he was still barefoot. But it didn’t matter; he had failed.

Mila kicked down the bike stand and unclipped her bike helmet but didn’t take it off. The straps swung aimlessly under her chin. She leaned down and flicked him on the forehead. Otabek flinched, but he deserved it.

Mila straightened and leaned on one leg. “So uh, what happened to seducing him with your swaying hips, hmmm~?”

Pink rapidly spreading across his cheeks, Otabek looked away, suddenly finding a very interesting ant crawling across the cobblestones. Mila knelt and began to rummage in the bag by Otabek’s side. She pulled out some sandals and a worn t-shirt. She balled up the shirt, took a step back, and threw it at his face. It forced Otabek to look up. His red ears and bemused expression made Mila chuckle.

“Get dressed. It’s time for Plan B.”

 

Plan B apparently involved terrifying Otabek half out of his mind. Holding on to the back of the bike with both hands, Otabek was very close to screeching.

“Mila! Where are you taking me?” The bike wobbled precariously on the uneven cobblestones and Otabek bounced painfully on the metal carrier on top of the back wheel, his sandaled feet barely managing to hang onto the footrests on the back wheel.

Mila cheerfully called back, “I thought you liked bikes, Otabek!” She swerved suddenly and Otabek almost lost his grip. The only thought running through Otabek’s mind at the moment was, man, I wish I had just kissed him before I die in a horrible bicycle accident. He hope they got to wherever they were going soon.

Not long after, Mila stopped the bike in front of a small coffee shop. Chaining the bike to a nearby lamppost, Mila pocketed the key and turned to look for her wayward friend. She found Otabek kneeling on the ground, breathing heavily. He looked up at her with wide eyes, “I’m going to...walk back from here, okay?”

Mila patted him on the back and hauled him up. “You did better than Georgi, that’s for sure.” She pushed him towards the cafe. “Now come on, there’s someone you need to meet.”

 

The cafe wasn’t too crowded, considering it was late afternoon edging into early evening. Mila brought Otabek to a small table in the corner, away from the windows. Soon after, a young man with an apron that proclaimed the cafe’s name, Cafe Star, came up to them.

“Mila!” the young, black-haired man exclaimed. He dropped his notepad on the table and hugged Mila, fiercely. “How did it go?” His eyes were sparkling and then landed on the recovering Otabek. He looked over at Mila again and put his hand over his mouth, “No!” he said, sotto voce.

Mila nodded seriously and sighed, about to speak. Phichit held up a finger, grabbed a nearby chair, shouted “I’m taking my break now!” to a small blond boy with a red streak in his hair, and sat down. He placed both hands on the table and looked directly at Otabek, “tell me what happened.”

Otabek looked at Mila, confused. Who was this guy? Mila rolled her eyes and explained, drawing Phichit’s attention back to her. “Otabek, this is Phichit. Phichit, this is Otabek,” she introduced. To Otabek she said, “He’s the one who orchestrated Yuuri and Victor’s tryst so that your Yuri-”

“He’s not my Yuri yet!” protested Otabek, the blush returning full force.

Mila raised an eyebrow, “Yet?” she repeated, smirking.

Otabek was red up to his ears again and dropped his head on the table. “Please, stop teasing me,” he insisted, voice muffled due to the wooden table. “I messed up. Now he’ll never talk to me again. He’ll just know me as the annoying weirdo in his dance studio.”

Phichit shook his head, “Otabek, Otabek, Otabek,” he said soothingly, “Don’t worry, Yuri will be in your arms before you know it!” Phichit turned to Mila again, beckoning her to continue.

“As I was saying, Phichit here was the one who texted Yuuri, Yuri’s roommate, and persuaded him to invite Victor over.” Mila waved her hand dismissively. “Of course, if those two are in a room together, clothes start flying and your Yuri will stomp away, going, of course, to the dance room in the basement to practice.” Now she looked directly at Phichit. “However,” she flicked Otabek on the forehead again. Rubbing the spot she struck, Otabek looked up at her with big, sad puppy eyes. Phichit cooed in the background. “Phichit, pay attention!” Mila demanded. She flicked Phichit too, for good measure.

“Ow!”

“Lover boy here wasn’t ready apparently, so when Yuri walked in and demanded Otabek leave, he tucked his tail between his legs and hightailed it out faster than you can post something on Instagram.”

Phichit looked down at Otabek, “Dude why?”

“I-I panicked,” Otabek explained sheepishly. “He was just so-beautiful, and angry, and I just wanted to make him happy.” He sighed deeply. “I was such a fool, there’s no way a guy like him would even like a guy like me anyway. This was a silly idea,” he stood up and grasped Phichit’s hand, shaking it formally. “Thank you for rendering your assistance, I’ll be leaving now.” Otabek turned, and heedless to Mila’s calls, walked out of the cafe.

Mila glanced at Phichit, then at Otabek’s retreating figure. “He’s an idiot, but he’s my idiot,” she told him. Phichit nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. Mila continued, “We don’t need him for Plan B anyway.”

“What were you planning?” Phichit’s insatiable curiousity asked.

Mila giggled, “Here’s my idea.” She began to whisper in Phichit’s ear.

 

After a couple hours practicing his step sequences, Yuri felt it was safe enough to go back upstairs. He still needed to work on his flow, there was a tricky part in the middle that he kept stumbling over. Ever cautious, he made sure to text Yuuri, who replied back with an all clear. Swiping his school ID in front of the door, Yuri opened the door after the ensuing beep. Covering his eyes with one hand, he called out, “You guys better be decent or I’m suing for emotional damages!”

Yuuri called back from the kitchen, “In here, Yurio!” he waved a spatula around, “Victor’s sleeping in my bed until dinnertime.”

“Ew, that I did not need to know Katsudon, please shut up about your sex lives now,” Yuri plopped down on a stool and leaned his arms on the counter next to the kitchen, watching Yuuri skillfully manipulate the spatula into producing rolled omelets. “What are you making for dinner?”

Yuuri hummed under his breath, “Hmm? Oh, I’m just making some rolled omelets to add to yesterday’s leftovers. There wasn’t much left, so these will serve as a decent protein for a growing boy!” Yuuri teased gently. Yuri was still bitter about his very late-onset puberty. It did wonders for his early skating years in the senior division but was hell now. Yuri glared at Katsudon’s back.

Katsudon suddenly brought the spatula up like a baton. “Oh!” he exclaimed. Yuuri took the omelets off the pan and put them on a cutting board. Pulling out a knife, he began to slice. Yuuri glanced at Yuri. Conspicuously, he tried to speak casually, “so,” he said, dragging out the o sound. “Did...anything happen while you were gone?”

Yuri raised a suspicious brow, “Did you have anything to do with that asshole in the dance room?” he accused. Yuri leaned over the counter, causing Yuuri to quickly back up, even though Yuuri was the one holding the knife.

“Ah, Yurio, of course not!” Yuuri protested, laughing weakly. “How would I know that there was someone down there? But tell me, did anything happen?”

“Besides that asshole I had to kick out? Nothing.” muttered Yuri, sitting back on the stool again. “I had to tell him I had that room reserved so he would leave. He must be new or something, because he didn’t even protest; he just left,” Yuri mused. “Either way, it gave me time to practice so he better not show up again,” he threatened. Yuri flicked a stray hair from his face, “although…”

Yuuri picked up on it immediately, dammit. “Although?” he questioned, looking up at Yuri.

“Shut up Katsudon! It’s nothing,” Yuri insisted, though his mind went back to that encounter. The intruder was pretty nice, all things considered. Pink rose to his face as Yuri recalled the intruder’s appearance and shirtless body.

Yuuri snuck a glance and gave a small smile, unnoticed by Yuri. Looks like this boy made an impression on Yuri after all. He arranged the slices neatly on a plate and went to wake up Victor for dinner.

 

The next day dawned as Friday. Yuri was rudely woken by loud pounding on the door. He rolled out of bed, ran a hand through his hair, and peered sleepily and grumpily through the peephole. “The fuck do you-” he yawned, “want, hag? It’s too early for this.”  
“Yuri let me in!” She pounded on the door until Yuri opened and barrelled past him into the small kitchen. She opened the fridge and pulled out orange juice, drinking directly from the carton. She did this every time she came, so by this point, tired Yuri just rubbed his eyes and ignored the blasphemy in front of him. Mila sat on the counter and patted the spot next to her.

Yuri ignored the invite and sat on the stool one space away from Mila. She pouted and he sighed. “Why are you here so early?”

“Early?” Mila cackled and put the carton down. She pulled her phone from her pocket and showed it to Yuri. The bright numbers read 1:13pm.

“Oh.”

“Yeah oh. Did something keep you up last night?” She winked salaciously.

“If you must know, I was Skyping my grandpa,” replied Yuri. With the time difference, classes, and practice, the times when Yuri could Skype with Grandpa Nikolai were few and far between. But Yuri did his best to not miss an chat. His grandpa must be lonely, all by himself in Moscow.

“Awww, I love Grandpa!”

“He’s mine, not yours!”

“Still,” insisted Mila. “Whenever he sends you pirozhki he always makes a special one for me too.” She smiled beautifically and draped herself across the counter, almost knocking over the orange juice. “They’re so tasty.”

“Anyway,” Yuri waved his hand dismissively. “What do you want?”

“Hmm? Oh, little ol’ me?” She looked Yuri straight in the eye. “I’m going to change your life.” She rolled off the counter, put the orange juice away, and softly poked Yuri’s chest. Her entine demeanor changed; her eyes were the most serious that he had ever seen.

“6pm. Be ready. Dress nice.” She walked back out of the room, calling “Bye!” as she shut the door behind herself.

“What the hell hag!” Yuri shouted after her. He grabbed his phone and sent a rapid fire text.

To: Mila:  
Wtf y  
To: Yuri:  
I won’t explain but you have to be ready.  
To: Mila:  
What if im not bc ur being ridiculously mysterious  
To: Yuri:  
If you dont I’ll post those pictures of you from the Halloween party  
To: Mila:  
6pm no later

 

5:33pm. Yuri looked critically at his closet. ‘Dress nice,’ Mila had said. Those instructions were pretty vague; where was she planning on taking him? Dammit. He’ll dress nice, but his idea of nice. Pulling out a pair of tight black jeans, he shimmied them on and put on a plain black tank, layering it with a loose leopard print sheer crop top. Some accessories later, he holed himself up in front of the bathroom mirror with a brush.

With a faint shout of, “Victor no! Yurio’s primping we can’t have shower sex-”

“Disgusting, you old man!”

Yuri made sure to lock the bathroom door behind him. His hair barely went past his shoulders but he was still growing it out. He pulled half of it into a simple Dutch braid and let the other side drape loosely. He opened a drawer and put on some eyeliner, hints of glittery eyeshadow, and shined his lips with some barely there lip gloss. Stuffing his feet in his trusty combat boots, he was ready. It was 5:58pm.

Mila bounced in at 6 on the dot, dressed in a simple flared dress with pockets from which she pulled out her phone. She looked at the screen, nodded to herself, and hooked her arm around Yuri’s.

“Alright, let’s go!”

Yuri grumbled. “You’ll delete the pictures after I go to wherever it is you want me to go to, right?”

“Kitten-” Mila began. Yuri tried to protest and separate, but her grip was very firm. Mila amended, “Yuri, if you come to this show with me, and stay the whole time, then I will delete those pictures, okay?”

“A show?” Yuri looked up at her suspiciously, “What kind of show?”

“You’ll see,” she smirked. “We’re almost there.”

The auditorium wasn’t too far from the dorm and there were the tell-tale signs of a performance there tonight. Student ushers directed people to and fro while security stood outside, checking tickets. Mila pulled two from her other pocket, and the security guard sent them down a different staircase, down to the first rows of seating.

Knowing Mila could keep her lips shut when she wanted, Yuri kept quiet and tried to figure out what kind of show she took him to by his surroundings. There weren’t very many clues. The stage was clear of any obvious props and equipment, and the backdrop was a generic curtain. The pit was empty, so at least that ruled out any kind of play or musical. It wasn’t a concert, because they would be set up by now. Just why did Mila insist on his attendance?

It didn’t become any clearer when the show began. The lights dimmed and a hush fell over the small crowd. A spotlight shone on the left of the stage and soft drums and string music began to play. A reed pipe set a rhythmic melody and a dancer swayed onto the stage.

At this, Mila grabbed onto Yuri’s arm excitedly, “Look, it’s my Sara!” She sighed dreamily and Sara stopped at the middle of the stage. Oh, Mila took him to a belly dancing show.

Sara wore a deep sheer purple split skirt, a small golden beaded top, and a matching veil on her face, which matched her vibrant eyes, visible from the first row. Small metal cymbals were wrapped around her fingers and her bare feet made nary a sound on the wooden floor. In time with the music, she sashayed and moved her arms above her head, then down her body. Sinuously, she bent almost horizontally and swayed, the rolling movement transitioning perfectly from her head to her toes.

The music grew louder and stopped, suddenly. With a snap of her cymbals, Sara froze, perfectly positioned with her arms slightly bent over her head and her face half turned away, gazing at the audience through thick black lashes. Most of her weight was on her turned out right hip, her left leg peeking out from the slit slightly, revealing bare skin all the way up her thigh. Mila sighed again.

Yuri looked at her, impressed but unmoved. “Did you really just bring me here to lust after your girlfriend on stage?”

“Just wait,” Mila replied, not taking her eyes off of Sara, who still hadn’t moved. An announcer’s voice was heard, thanking the audience for coming to see the show.

“Welcome to our Fall Belly Dancing Performance! Out troupe is excited to introduce you to Turkish belly dancing. Featuring solo and group performances, we really hope you enjoy!”

The reed pipe began to play again, but Sara still didn’t move. The curtains parted behind her and another shadowy figure entered the spotlight. It was a man. His back facing the audience, he brought his hand up to Sara’s face. The sash attached to his hand obscured their faces. The music built in anticipation rose to the crescendo. He brought his hand down, rapidly, and Sara’s veil fell away, fluttering gently past the stage into the first row of seats. Yuri had never seen Mila move so quickly as she dived to catch the sheet fabric. Mila brought it to ther face and winked up at the dancer.

Both dancers began to move, and the man finally turned towards the audience, arms outstretched, Sara copying his pose slightly to the right of him. Realization hit Yuri like a freight train. It was the guy from the dance room! Wow. Yuri’s mouth dropped open and Mila tore her eyes away from Sara for a minute to gauge Yuri’s reaction. He looked entranced; perfect, Mila thought to herself.

That, intruder, belly dancer, whoever he was; Yuri needed to get his name. He was beautiful, clad in light teal poofy pants with a wide vertical sash decorated with gold stripes and detailing. His accessories were gold bangles and bracelets, with a teal drop held in place with a dark band across his forehead. His right arm had two bangles, one on his bicep and another on his wrist. Suspended between them was a thick string that held various gold beads that clinked merrily with his movements. His ears were pierced with dark studs and the the sash was a complementary faded brown color.

His movements were as smooth as Sara’s as they both swayed to the music. They danced together and apart; moving closer and separating with the beat. He grasped Sara’s hand and twirled her in place; she quickly did the same to him. He dropped to the floor and she pulled him up by the sash, slowly, as he lifted his shoulders, his back, his hips, and his knees. Sara did the splits, he kneeled behind her and they moved their torsos in sync.

Woah, Yuri was stunned, and suddenly acquired a burning interest in belly dancing. He could not tear his eyes off the stage for the rest of the show, even when Sara and the male belly dancer left the stage. Yuri’s eyes scanned the stage for his reappearance. He appeared again at the end, doing a solo.

If he was beautiful dancing with Sara, it looked so much better by himself, just him and the audience. Instead of looking at Sara with that intense gaze, he turned it to the crowd. Bending his knees, he ran his eyes over the first row of seats. When he reached Yuri, they both reacted. Yuri jumped in his seat and suddenly dropped his gaze to the dancer’s feet. He almost missed the sudden stiffening of the dancer’s body and he missed a step, almost stumbling.

He recovered quickly and averted his gaze from the first row. Suddenly Yuri felt bad for yelling at the guy yesterday. He clearly remembered him and was still affected by Yuri screaming at him, especially considering what happened next.

Even though the dancer recovered and continued his routine, it quickly became obvious that his nerves were getting the better of him. His sinuous body and smooth movements became jerkier and he began to stutter. The more he messed up, the worse it became and by the end of his song, he was breathing heavily and his sash was tangled around one of his hands. He turned his face from the crowd and received the loudest applause of the evening, the audience reacting to his preserverance. The dancer quickly bowed and exited the stage. The audience began to disperse and the lights came back on.

Yuri turned to Mila, rare concern marking his features. Internally, Mila felt bad that Otabek was embarrassed, but it seemed to work. “Did you like it?” she asked Yuri.

“Uh,” Yuri replied. The guilt began to eat at him. As a figure skater, Yuri understood the importance of being focused for a performance, and how easily focus can be broken, even by the simplest of things. “Um, Mila. Do you know that male dancer? I need to talk to him.”

Mila grinned, surprising Yuri. “I’ll take you to him! I know where they get changed because of Sara, c’mon!” Yuri followed her directly onto the stage and through the hallway behind. The hallway had a bunch of doors, each designating a dressing room. Another dancer, untying the small cymbals from her hands, spotted Mila and smiled warmly.

“Mila!” They hugged. “Are you looking for Sara? She’s in room 5.”

“Lale! Thanks, but actually, do you know where…” Mila side eyed Yuri, “the male dancer is?” At this, the girl’s expression fell, but brightened quickly. “Are you going to talk to him? He’s incredibly embarrassed and closed the door to the dressing room. If you could help…” she trailed off and spotted Yuri. “Oh! Who’s your friend?” With one hand freed from the zill, she shook Yuri’s hand enthusiastically. “Hi! I’m Lale.”

“Yuri”

Her eyes grew wide and she seemed to freeze for a second, before grinning even harder, “You must be Otabek’s-”

“Shhhh!” Mila jumped forward and put her hands on Lale’s mouth, stopping her before she could finish her sentence. Yuri looked confused, and grew more suspicious by the second.

“Who the hell is Otabek? What a weird name.” Yuri crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, I need to talk to the male dancer, that’s all.” 

Lale pulled Mila’s hands from her face and pointed down the hallway, “That’s him! Room eight. Good luck!” She stepped to the side to let him pass. “We would really appreciate it if you could get him to open the door!”

Yuri walked past her and stood in front of dressing room eight. The two women looked at each other and giggled. Mila offered to help Lale change, back in Sara’s dressing room.

 

Otabek was in the middle of undressing. Most of the jewelry was on the vanity and he was carefully folding the sash of his costume. He kept having to unfold and refold because of his anxiety. He finally stopped and rested his hands on the small vanity table. He looked up at the mirror and willed the full face flush to recede from his face. His hands were still trembling slightly. He was a disaster.

Otabek was supposed to be professional, but once he realized Yuri, Yuri of all people, had come to his performance and was watching him, he lost all his concentration and fucked up. He softly banged his head on the table. He was not prepared to see him and the thought of Yuri watching his every move caused his anxiety to spike and he lost his focus. He was lucky he was able to finish the routine at all, ingrained muscle memory being the only way he made it to the end.

There was no way he could ever face Yuri ever again. Yuri was an amazing skater and performed on television for thousands of people, and he can’t even control his nerves for a small crowd. Clearly, his only option was to move. Leave permanently and make sure he never ran into his crush again. There’s no way he would be able to think about this incident without dying from embarrassment. Decision made, Otabek stood up. He jumped at a soft knock. Everyone in the troupe knew not to disturb a closed door, so who could it be? He froze when he heard a familiar voice.

On the other side of the door, Yuri began to talk. Lela mentioned how the door was locked, so Yuri figured the best way would be to try to apologize through the door and hope that the male dancer would accept his apology.

“I-uh, I saw your performance,” he began. “It was really good...mesmerizing, even.” Yuri’s eyes glazed over a bit recalling the show. “You...looked really good, ugh, I already said that.” Patience running thin and awkwardness increasing due to the looks Yuri was getting from the rest of the troupe that passed him in the hall, Yuri gave up. Shuffling on his feet, he said, “Look, can you please open the door? I have to tell you something.”

Inside, Otabek was frozen. Yuri. That was Yuri’s voice. Yuri said he liked his performance! But Otabek knew he was a failure, Yuri must just be saying that to make him feel better. But why? A niggling thread of curiosity wove into his thoughts. Yuri wanted to talk to him, to tell him something. Realizing that having someone talk through the door was probably drawing a lot of attention which would not be good for his already strained nerves, Otabek steeled himself and opened the door.

Forcing his face into a neutral expression, he said in a remarkably even tone, “Please, come in.”

Yuri brought his head up and with a soft, “Thanks,” walked past him. Otabek shut the door and turned to face him. Yuri tucked his hair behind his ear and looked at Otabek straight in the eye.

“I wanted to apologize for yesterday.” Otabek was shocked and stood stock still. Yuri continued, “I-I realize that I was extremely rude for kicking you out of the room yesterday even though I had never seen you there before and cut short your practice time probably, and that I broke your concentration during your performance.” Yuri took a deep breath. “So. Sorry.” He looked up to gauge Otabek’s reaction.

Otabek said the first thing that came to his mind, “I-uh, thanks.” Wait! That wasn’t what he wanted to say!

Yuri nodded resolutely and turned to leave; Otabek quickly came to his senses, “Wait!” he said, arm outstretched towards Yuri. Yuri raised an eyebrow expectantly. Otabek drew his hand back and saw Yuri’s glittery eyeshadow. It really brought out his eyes. And his hair was-Otabek shook his head at his distraction. Yuri looked confused.

Otabek took a step back. “Umm,” he brought his hands together and rubbed them together nervously. “I have a confession to make.”

“I didn’t lose my focus because you yelled at me yesterday. It was because of you, but not for the reason that you think.” Otabek looked up. “To be completely honest, it was because,” he paused, and Yuri leaned forward, curious. 

“IhaveahugecrushonyouandIpanicked.”

“Uh, what?”

“I like you. Go out with me?”

“What?” Yuri was floored. This, this attractive dancer liked him? Him? Yuri Plisetsky, well known grouchy brat who was way too obsessed with cats and leopard print? “Me?”

“Well, yeah.” Otabek was blushing again but determined to finally confess. “I’ve had a crush on you ever since I saw you. You did an exhibition last year at the rink and I couldn’t forget how beautiful you looked on the ice.”

“That was last year!” protested Yuri. “Are you saying you’ve had a crush on me for a whole year?” Yuri couldn’t believe this.

Otabek nodded. “It started out professionally,” he insisted. “But then I transferred here and saw you while you weren’t performing and it kind of spiraled from there.”

“I’ve never seen you before though,” said Yuri. “Wait, were you stalking me?”

Otabek backpedaled quickly, “No! Well not...intentionally.”

Yuri rose a carefully sculpted eyebrow. A small part of him was enjoying watching Otabek squirm. If it was anyone else, he would be more upset but if an attractive man was so interested in him, Yuri let himself be flattered. Of course, he wasn’t going to let Otabek know that.

Face serious, Yuri asked, “ Was that the only time?”

“Yes!” Otabek replied earnestly.

“Ok, fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I’m kinda flattered actually.”

Yuri grasped Otabek’s hands. “Yes.”

“Yes?” echoed Otabek.

“Yes, I’ll go out with you, you dork. You’re pretty good-looking yourself, you know.”  
Otabek’s flush deepened. “You barely even know me.”

“Do you want to go out with me or not?” Yuri snarked back. “Mila knows you, even though she pretended not to earlier,” Otabek nodded, confirming Yuri’s suspicions, “so you can’t be all that bad.” Yuri smirked and decided to push his luck. “Besides, if your top looks this good,” boldly, Yuri released one of his hands and ran his fingers down Otabek’s chest. Otabek’s breath caught. “I’m really curious about what’s under these pants.”

**Author's Note:**

> I might write more if there's more interest!


End file.
